I work for an ISP. A customer calls in, polite but very direct.

Caller: “I’ve had an internet problem that I haven’t been able to get fixed. I’ve called you repeatedly, and I’ve called my computer manufacturer who says it’s your fault.”

The notes on his account back it up, it appears previous reps have made a worthwhile effort at trying to solve it.

Caller: “This is the last chance you have before I cancel and go elsewhere.”

This doesn’t bother me, but I try to do my job right.

Me: “I promise to take every step in the book with you to check everything we possibly can.”

He agrees to let me try, and to his credit, he does every single thing I ask him. We cut zero corners on the steps. He checks every cable, removes and replaces them as asked, clicks everything I tell him to click and nothing else, reads everything he sees on his screen right to me. He is an excellent customer.

Me: “So, the modem is getting everything it needs. Looks correct through my tools and the lights on your end. Computer is pulling an IP address valid for our network. Browser comes up with being unable to connect to anything. We’ve cleared every cache and cookie and thing I can think of, still no go.”

I’m following our ticketing system (which includes a troubleshooting tree) to the letter, looking at my reference material as to what he should be seeing. We’re getting down to one of the final steps before my system says “not our problem.”

We get to checking the tcp/ip settings. This is where my tech support memory fails me as to exactly what tcp/ip settings so don’t ask but I’ll approximate it:

Me: “Okay, so can you check that settings A, B, and C say [this]?”

Caller: “Yep, A, B, and C are exactly that. And Box D is unchecked.”

Wait a sec. Box D isn’t in the troubleshooting tree, but my reference material shows Box D being checked… it sounds somewhat relevant, I guess?

Me: “Um, can you check Box D for me? And now, check your internet?”

Caller: “OH MY GOD THE INTERNET WORKS!”

The customer then goes on and on about how thrilled he is that his problem is finally solved, and how much work I put into checking every last thing for him, how I solved it after all the hours he spent trying to get this fixed. He asks to speak to my manager, which I of course let him do, stayed on the line and heard him gush to my boss for a solid ten minutes.

A couple of hours later, the Quality Assurance guy (the guy that listens to recordings to make sure we’re doing our job right and scores them) comes over and tells me he listened to that call, and then presents me with my scoresheet. A big fat zero; lowest score possible.

Score Sheet: “You went out of scope, Box D isn’t in the troubleshooting tree. Zero.”

My boss lost his mind before I could. No appeal, no second opinions allowed under our system. Happiest customer I ever had, and scored zero. This is the exact moment that I decided “work to rule” was going to be the status quo from now on.

The university I teach at isn’t particularly strict on attendance; it’s up to the teacher to control how they want attendance to affect their class. This one professor decided to be incredibly strict about it and the students hated him for it.

He would physically lock the door once five minutes passed, and would not open it again for any reason whatsoever. If you were five minutes late, you lost that lesson. Some students started sitting on the hallway and talking notes while looking through the glass doors when that was an option.

One day I arrived to teach my lesson and all the students are acting strange.

Me: “What’s so funny? Why is everyone so giggly and happy?”

Student #1: “[Professor] arrived five minutes late to his class today. We locked him out of the classroom.”

Student #2: “For an entire hour.”

I suspect he was too embarrassed to ask for a key and in the process having to admit why he was locked out.

He never locked the doors again.

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I work in the call center at a VA hospital. When a veteran calls in, we have to ask for their last name and last four of their social security number in order to verify that it’s actually them since there are an incredible number of vets with the same last name. Pretty standard across all VA hospitals in the U.S. The vast majority of the vets that call in don’t have a problem with this.

Me: “Thank you for calling the [VA]. This is [My Name]. How may I help you?”

I worked in the specialty center which housed the orthopedic, podiatry, ENT, surgical, dental, etc.

Veteran: “I need to speak to Dr. [Name].” *Head of the clinic*

Me: “Okay. Did he call you directly?”

Veteran: “No! Just let me talk to him!”

This guy is already getting angry and the call has just started.

Me: “Okay. What’s your name, sir?”

He gives his first name.

Me: “Okay. What’s your last name?”

Veteran: *Yelling* “You don’t need to know! Just get me Dr. [Name]!”

Me: *Calmly* “Well I kinda need to know who is calling for Dr. [Name] as it is something that the doctors like to know.”

Veteran: “I don’t f******* care! Just give me Dr. [Name]!”

Me: “Sir, I must ask you to refrain from cussing or else I’ll have to terminate the call. Now please, tell me your last name and I can see what I can do.”

Veteran: “I ain’t giving you s***! If you ain’t going to help me, then you can f*** off!”

Click.

I laugh a little to myself and with my coworkers. The phone rings again; it’s the same guy. At this point, I make a mental note of the phone number.

Me: “Thank you for calling the [VA]. This is [My Name]. How may I help you?”

Veteran: “Get me Dr. [Name]!”

Me: *Knowing it’s the same guy* “Okay, sir. What’s your name and last four digits of your social?”

Veteran: “You’re not getting s*** from me, just be a good little boy and get me the f****** doctor!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I have to know who is calling in order to inform the doctor.”

Veteran: “This is going f****** nowhere! F*** you!”

Click.

I tell my coworkers he called again and hung up a second time. We laugh a bit and I tell them to forward me the number if they see it.

My coworker’s phone rings and he says it’s the same guy. I tell him to forward it to me.

Me: “Thank you for calling the [VA]. This is [My Name]. How may I help you?”

Silence, for only a couple seconds but feels like longer. I speak in my kindest, sweetest voice.

Me: “Hello? Is anyone there?”

The veteran releases a long pronounced sigh.

Click.

This happened at the end of the day. At 4:30 pm the phones shut off and the calls get routed to information, and they are far less helpful. I laughed again, gathered my stuff, and left.

I deliver a pizza to a motel and the customer is a drunk, condescending a**hole.

Customer: “Hey pizza boy, couldn’t get a smart-person job huh? Stay in school. How much is the pizza?”

Me: “$9.87.”

He hands me a $10 bill.

Customer: “Keep the change.”

As I turn to walk back to my car, I see that there is an extra zero on the end: he’d accidentally slid me a Benjamin ($100). I hauled a** to my car, and he must’ve figured it out because he starts yelling to me.

I just know he is going to call the store, so I hide the $100 bill in my car and replace it with a $10 from my own wallet. Sure enough, the manager is waiting at the door when I get back. I hand him my cash belt so he can count it and he finds that I’d made $15 in tips for the night so far.

Manager: “Sorry about that, [My Name]. I knew he was just a drunk a**hole but I had to check.”

If the customer had been halfway decent, I absolutely would have told him about the mistake. But treat me like a loser? Thanks for the tip!

While working at the grocery store one night, I turn to the door and there’s a kid standing there with a monkey in a diaper on a leash. I just tilt my head, trying to figure out if I’m having a hallucination.

Kid: “It’s a monkey, miss.”

His mom is smirking.

Me: “Erm… let me check to see if monkeys are allowed in.”

This is a neighborhood grocer. I doubt that they are, but I’m not facing down the mom. She is one of THOSE customers; we all know and hate her. I walk over to my supervisor.

Me: “Supervisor, does [Store] allow monkeys?”

He’s worked with me for my entire tenure, and he knows that I only request supervisors if I really need them.

Supervisor: “Can you show me the monkey?”

I lead him over to the door where, indeed, the kid and his mom are still standing with the monkey on a leash.

Supervisor: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t bring a monkey into the store.”

The mom gets mad and starts cussing my supervisor out because we’re somehow discriminating against her and her son for not allowing an animal in the store.

The kid just goes outside while his mom goes to grab a few things, complaining the entire time.

Related:
Containing This Monkey Business

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